


After the Fire

by midnights_hermit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Doctor John Watson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Gen, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights_hermit/pseuds/midnights_hermit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Missing Scenes from The Empty Hearse: </p><p>After the bonfire John was safe and Mary was looking for Sherlock. Neither one of them had yet to thank him, and neither of them had even gotten the chance to make sure that he wasn't hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Fire

* * *

 The chaos had turned to a dull, muted noise all around him. The crowds had lessened. And now, even the police seemed to be wandering off as well.

John did not quite remember how he had ended up in the ambulance. But he was there now, seated on the back bumper with his legs hanging down, not quite touching the ground.

The paramedic was tending to his head, cleaning the wound a bit rougher than John appreciated. He guessed it was partly because he refused to go to the hospital. But the last thing John wanted was to go to a hospital tonight.

Mary returned. She still looked concerned, but her expression had softened a bit. John smiled at seeing her. And as the paramedic stepped back inside, she came over and sat down next to him, taking his hand into hers.

"You sure you're alright?" She asked. "Don't want to go to hospital?"

"No, I'm fine." He said. His eyes settled on what she was holding, and it took him another minute to realize what it was.

"Is that? A motorcycle helmet?" He asked, bewildered.

"Oh, yeah." She said, looking at it. "Sherlock's pretty good on a motorbike."

"What?! Where did he get..." John's voice trailed off. It was Sherlock after all. John knew the man could get anything anytime he needed it, or wanted it.

"I can't find him anywhere." Mary said.

"What?"

"Sherlock. I can't find him anywhere." Mary said again. "I wanted to thank him. But he's just...gone."

John's heart lurched. Something about those words struck him a bit too hard.

"He does that sometimes." John said.

Mary turned to the paramedic.

"Hey there? Hi? Yes." She said. "Have you seen our friend? Tall bloke? Long coat. Scarf. Wavy hair. Cheek bones?"

"Uh, no sorry." The young man said. "But when you do find him send him here. I didn't get a chance to look him over yet."

"What?! Was he hurt?!" Mary asked, and John's head spun around.

"Don't think so." The man answered. "But I hadn't checked him over yet." He paused. "And he forgot his gloves."

John looked to where the paramedics gaze had settled. Sure enough, there on the floor to John's right was the familiar pair of black leather gloves.

"But? I mean, he wasn't obviously hurt or anything. Was he?" She asked.

"He seemed fine when he walked off." The paramedic said.

"You just let him walk off?!" Mary sniped.

"No. The police needed him a minute. And he didn't come back."

"You see which way he went?"

"No, afraid not."

John picked up one of the gloves. The familiar feel of the worn leather brought back so many memories. He looked it over, flipping it from side to side. And as he did the same with the other, John could not find any sign that there was any damage. Everything looked fine.

"The motorbike is gone." Mary said, shaking John from his thoughts.

John looked to her.

"It was over there." She said, pointing a finger. "It's gone now. I didn't even hear the engine."

John looked to the spot she was pointing at. He felt the bitter pang of sorrow that Sherlock had left again without him. John bit his lip, and he put the gloves into his own pocket.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock had made it back to Baker street. He found the couple he had taken the motorbike from still waiting for him at Speedy's. He returned it, and gave them some cash for the one helmet he had somehow lost along the way.

Then, Sherlock made his way upstairs to his flat and locked the door.

He tossed off his coat and threw it over the chair as he headed to the kitchen. Turning on the water, he began to undo his shirts cuffs. His fingers were a bit cold, but otherwise uninjured. However, as he rolled up his sleeve, he winced.

Sherlock hadn't had any time to think of himself in those moments. Getting John out of danger had been the top priority. But now, he realized how much of an injury he had gotten for his effort.

The hot embers from the fire had blown back at him. The gloves had saved his hands. But his wrists and forearms were another matter. Scattered up and down both his arms were a number of red raw burn marks. The small welts were painfully defined against his pale skin.

Sherlock put his wrists under the cool water. He winced at the sensation as the cold made his fingers go numb. After a few minutes, he pulled back his hands and shut off the taps.

He sat himself down at the table where the medical kit was already spread out. As he set about tending to the burns, he knew it would be easy enough to hide the marks under his usual shirts. No one would be any the wiser.

Yet, as Sherlock set to work, he began to wonder where his gloves had gone off to.

 


	2. The Next Morning

It was early the next morning. John and Mary were awake and getting ready for work. All through out breakfast she had questioned him again and again about going in to work. But John was adamant that he go in for his shift that day.

John was buttoning up his shirt in the bathroom mirror when Mary walked in the open door. She came up to him and kissed him on the cheek.

"You look handsome today." She told him.

"Well, thank you."

"Going to go see him again today?" She joked.

John looked at her and she gave a cheeky smile.

"You are, aren't you?" Mary said, walking out. "You better be careful. One kidnapping a week is my limit."

John did up another button.

"I mean it." She said. "Take a cab this time."

"I will."

Mary sat down on the bed. She hesitated a moment. Then she spoke with a more sobering tone.

"John?"

"Yes."

"I called Sherlock this morning." She told him.

John stopped.

"Well, I tried. He didn't pick up. I left a message." She said. "He hasn't gotten back to me yet."

John hesitated a second longer. Then he did up his last button.

"He prefers to text." John said.

"I'll try that."

John leaned in closer to the mirror, turning his head to look at the cuts to his temple. He brushed his hair down trying to hide the marks, but it was of little use.

"I wanted to thank him." She said. "I would have never found you in time without his help."

John sighed and leaned back on his heels.

"Yeah, he..." His voice trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"You do think he's alright. Don't you?" She asked.

John froze. The shocked expression on his face was reflected back at him in the mirror.

"Of course. Why wouldn't he be alright?" John said, turning to Mary.

"Well, I mean, I'm sure he is." She said quickly. "He just took off so fast. I left you with him at the ambulance. And ten minutes later there you were alone and he was gone."

John turned back to the mirror.

"That's nothing new." John said flatly. "He's always been like that. One minute you're talking to him, the next he's wandered off."

"I suppose."

John gave himself one last look over. Then he walked out into the bedroom.

"So? You are going to see him." She asked again as she stood up.

"Yes. It's only right I thank him." John said, walking over to her. "He did save my life. And there's a good deal that I haven't..." John took a deep breath. "There is a good deal that I haven't said to him yet."

"I'm proud of you John." She said.

John smiled.

"You going over there after work?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Good." She said, smiling softly.

John leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She giggled and pushed him away.

"Enough of that." She said with a grin. "Or we'll be late for work."

John laughed and she took his hand, leading him out of the bedroom.

Mary words played through his head all day. And hours later, when John was finally finished with his shift, he was already grabbing for his coat. Mary had just enough time to remind him to take a cab before John was out the door headed to Baker street.


	3. After The Case

The scuffle of military boots and constant chatter was all around them as Sherlock and John emerged from subway entrance and onto the street above.

Police and bomb squad were out in full force as the two men entered out into the organized chaos. The officials paid them little mind as they stood there. And as John watched what was happening all around them, the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and there was a smile on his face.

"Sherlock! John!" Called a familiar voice.

The two men looked up as Lestrade came running over to them.

"Ah! You two! Back at it again. Just like old times." The detective laughed, grinning from ear to ear.

Neither man knew quite what to say. John looked to Sherlock. But the man was stone faced and seemed a bit uneasy.

"I hear you already gave your statements. You're all set you know. You're both free to go. Although," said Lestrade, leaning in a little closer. "With all this going on, you might have a bit of trouble getting out of here. The press is everywhere."

"Ah, really?" John groaned.

"Yeah, well. That's the thing about threats to parliament, tends to draw a crowd." He joked. "And let me tell you, it'll be a mad house if they see you two here." He paused. "Why don't I give you two a lift back to-"

"No, no. That won't be necessary." Sherlock said, quickly cutting him off. "We'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Quite."

Lestrade looked to John.

"It's fine Greg."

"Yeah, ok, right then. Uh, well..."

Suddenly, a voice called out for Lestrade and the detective inspector looked away.

"Sorry you two. Gotta go." He said to them. "Try over there." He added, pointing out an area off to the side. "It's cordoned off that way for at least two blocks. You should be able to get out that way without being seen."

"Thanks, Greg." John said.

With that, Lestrade jogged off to where the other officers were waiting for him.

John took one last look around. Then, he looked up at Sherlock.

The man still stood there with the same cold expression that John could not read. He had thought Sherlock would have been pleased. Having saved the whole of parliament in a matter of minutes was an accomplishment, even by Sherlock's high standards. But somehow, the detective seemed distant and elsewhere.

"Sherlock?"

The man looked to him.

"You ready?"

"Yes."

The two of them started walking. They had not made it very far before John's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, and found there were three missed calls and a text, all from Mary.

"Oh, damn." John said, without realizing he had spoke aloud.

"Mary?"

"Uh, yeah." John said, starting to type out a text. "I told her I'd only be a little while. And we both know that didn't happen."

"Call her." Sherlock said. "I'm sure she's worried about you."

John looked up at him, but Sherlock's gaze was firmly ahead.

John murmured in agreeance and dialed the number. It rang only once before Mary picked up.

_"John?! Where are you?! Are you alright?"_

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry. Sherlock and I were..." John continued to tell her as simply as he could about everything that had just happened. And when he was finished, he and Sherlock could see the police barricade just ahead of them, leading out onto a quieter street.

_"But you're alright? Both you and Sherlock?"_

"Yes, of course. We're both..." John looked up.

The detective was not at his side. Sherlock was gone. John spun around in a panic looking for him.

Sherlock was a number of paces behind him. The man was hunched over a bit with a hand on his knee, and his other hand clutching his side. But before John could speak, Sherlock noticed him. The man shot up, standing straight once more. He started walking with the same confident stride that John knew so well, and continued on past the shorter man without so much as a passing glance.

_"John?"_

"Yes? Sorry. No, yeah. We're both fine." John said. But he could feel Mary's doubt through the phone.

_"John? Why don't you take Sherlock home?"_

"What?!"

_"Back to his place I mean. Just take him back to Baker street. Make sure he gets home alright, and then you come home. I mean, after all that-"_

"But Mary, I-"

_"No. John. I am telling you. Take him back to Baker street. He might not say it, but I'm sure he must need you right now."_

John hesitated. He wanted to argue, to disagree with her. Tell her that there was no way in the world that Sherlock Holmes would ever agree to that. But when John looked up, he saw Sherlock was watching him. Their eyes met. Sherlock turned away uneasily. In that instant, John knew Mary was right.

_"John?"_

"Ok. Yes." John said. "Yes, I will do that."

_"Good. I'll see you when you get home."_

And with that, Mary hung up.

John took the phone from his ear. He stared down at the screen for a moment. He wasn't sure how or why he had just agreed to that. Somehow, Mary had always had that kind of power over him. And as he put the phone back in his pocket he felt oddly at ease.

John caught up to Sherlock, who was still waiting for him.

"All set?" Sherlock asked him.

"Yeah, all set." John answered.

Sherlock lifted up the police tape. The two men ducked under it and they walked out onto the street.

"You alright?" John asked.

"Me? Yeah. Fine."

"Sherlock?"

"I'm fine, John."

"Sherlock? You were-"

Sherlock stepped past him, just in time to hail the cab that was nearing them. The black car slowed and pulled to a stop. Sherlock reached out and opened the door. But to John's surprise, Sherlock stepped aside. He had opened the door just for John.

"Here take it." He said flatly. "Have a good night, John. Do wish Mary my best."

John stared blankly at the man. A moment passed. Then another.

"John. Here. Take the-"

"What? No!"

"No?" Sherlock's face twisted in surprise.

"No! What's going on with you?" John said, standing his ground.

Sherlock just kept looking at him.

John rubbed a hand over his own face.

"John, if this is about how I tricked you down in the-"

"No. No, Sherlock." John cleared his throat. "It's not that. It's you." He said firmly. "You...you're not...you're not acting like yourself."

Sherlock said nothing.

John sighed.

"Come on." John said simply. "Get in."

Sherlock gave him a long questioning look. But he did as he was told, and got into the cab. John got in next to him and sat down. The door shut and the cab pulled away.

"Where to?" Asked the cabby.

"Baker street." John answered. "221 Baker street."

The backseat fell quiet. They rode in complete silence for several long minutes. It was deafening and uncomfortable. And the whole time John racked his brain trying to find the right words to say.

"John?"

He looked up.

Sherlock was staring at him. The man's eyes were heavy, and his brow knit with twisting emotions.

John wanted to say something, anything that could calm away that look. Make Sherlock laugh. Tell him to cut it out. Drop it. Just stop doing that thing, making that face, that made John's heart feel as if it were being torn to pieces all over again.

But, their little exchange in the train carriage made John hesitant about opening up again. Even if right now, this did feel different.

However, before John could come up with anything heartfelt to say, he had already opened his mouth.

"Mary told me to take you home." John blurted out.

"What? Why?!"

"Because." John said. "Mary was worried about you." He paused. "And..."

Sherlock waited.

John's words were stuck in his throat.

As usual, Sherlock was ahead of him. He had always been able to read John too easily. And as Sherlock looked away, John could see the uneasy expression written across the man's face.

"I told you, John. I'm fine."

"Sherlock."

"Don't make me say it again. I am-"

"No your not! Sherlock?! You've barely been back two, three days." John said, raising his voice. "It's been two years. Two years Sherlock! And..."

Sherlock looked to him.

"...and I don't even know what happened to you." John said softly.

Sherlock paused a moment.

"I put you through a lot. Too much." Sherlock said simply. "I can see that, John, more clearly now than ever."

John froze.

"And, once again, I am sorry John."

John stared at him in utter disbelief. He swallowed hard at hearing those words. It took him a moment to find his voice again.

"That's...not what I mean. That's not what I meant." John said. "I meant you...you must have been through a great deal as well."

Sherlock shifted uneasily.

"I, uh..." John took a deep breath. "When I stopped by earlier, I didn't get to say everything I meant to." He began. "I, uh..."

"You don't have to say it John."

"No. I think I do."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

John let out a heavy sigh.

"I told you once already, I grieved you. Went though all those emotions because, I thought, you were dead." John began. "And now that you're back, I've only just realized that you probably had to deal with...your own set of emotions. I mean, Sherlock," he said looking up to the man. "You had to just up and leave. You didn't get to tell anyone what was really happening. What you were going to do. You didn't get to say goodbye or see anyone one last time..." John paused. "You just did it. And then, you spent the last two years pulling down an entire criminal network. Alone. All on your own. Without help. Without so much as a..."

John's voice trailed off.

"Without what?" Sherlock asked.

"Without your friends." John finished.

Sherlock tensed and his eyes glanced away towards the floor.

John kept talking.

"And since you've gotten back, you still don't yet have everything that you did leave behind."

"Yes, I do." Sherlock answered quickly. "I've Baker street. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly..."

"And me."

Sherlock looked at him. But again, his brow knit and he turned away.

"For the moment, yes." Sherlock said softly.

"No. From here on out Sherlock, I am not going anywhere." He paused. "Things may be different between us, and still might change a bit, but I am still here. I am still your...your friend."

Sherlock gave a hint of a smile.

"Come on." John laughed. "You didn't really think I'd just let you come back and give my job away to someone else? I heard about Molly, you know."

Sherlock gave a laugh.

"Yes, well, I suppose she can't quite pull rank like you can."

John laughed and shook his head.

"No, no she can't."

The both of them were laughing now. And for that brief second, if felt like the old times they had both missed so much.

The cab took a sharp turn. They brushed up against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

Suddenly, Sherlock hissed.

John backed away and looked to him. Sherlock's joy was gone. His eyes were wincing as he held back. He tucked his arm tighter against himself. In that instant, John realized that something was terribly wrong.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, I'm fi-"

"Don't say your fine. I know when you're not fine." John snapped back scolding him.

"It's nothing."

"The alley?!" John said, remembering. "You were all-"

"No, it's not tha-" Sherlock said, before catching himself. "Yes, I mean yes. But I'm-"

"Well? Which is it? Yes or no?"

The color suddenly drained from Sherlock's face. 

However, before John could press him further the cab pulled to a stop. The men realized they had reached Baker street.

In a flash Sherlock had pulled out his cash and threw it at the driver.

"Keep the change." He told to the cabby.

"Sherlo-"

"Yes, well. Good night John." Sherlock said quickly, and jumped out of the cab.

"Sherlock, wait a minute!" John called after him.

Sherlock did not stop. 

The doctor groaned. And without a second thought, John got out of the cab to go after him.

Sherlock had already reached the front door. He was fumbling with his keys as John came up behind him.

"Sherlock?"

The keys fell to the ground with a clatter. Sherlock froze and he stared down at his keys that now lay at John's feet.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" John asked.

Sherlock just kept staring at his keys.

"Sherlock?" John asked. Then, it hit him. "Oh?!"

Sherlock's eyes glanced up at him.

"The bonfire? That's it, isn't it?" John said. "I should have know."

"Can you, uh...?" Sherlock pointed to his keys.

"Sure." He said, picking up the keys for him.

John was just about to hand them over, when something else occurred to him.

"Wait? If you were scuffed up by the bonfire, then why would that cause you to be out of breath in the alley? You couldn't have inhaled that much smoke."

"John?"

"And in the cab? It was your shoulder."

"John."

"And earlier you were clutching your ribs?"

"John!"

John stopped.

"Can I have my keys now?"

"Yes, alright." John said, handing them over.

"Thank you." Sherlock said with a snide tone. But before he could say another word, John reached out and poked a finger into his side none too gently.

Sherlock hissed and jumped back.

"Damn it John?! What the-"

"Upstairs! Now!" John snapped.

"I told you. I am-"

"No you're not!" John yelled at him. "I am a doctor. And for a very long time I was..." He paused. "I still am your doctor! I know when something is not right with you. Clearly you're hurt. So get up stairs and lets get this over with before I really start yelling."

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised. It was one of only a few times John had seen that look on his face. A face that said he knew John was not joking, and that he should just listen and do as he's told.

Without a word, Sherlock unlocked and opened the door. He and John made their way up stairs into the flat. It was John who turned on the lights, as Sherlock stood awkwardly in the center of the living room.

"You got a first aid kit?" John asked.

"In my bedroom."

John turned and went to Sherlock's room. He opened the door and flipped on the light. 

The moment he did, things started to become a little more clear.

There on the bed was a spread of bandages and the first aid kit. John took a very long moment and eyed what was laid out. He realized it was an awful lot for what he had hoped was only a few burns. But John knew there was no way a couple of small burns could lead to Sherlock having spread out this many supplies.

John quickly gathered everything up in his arms and took it all with him back to the kitchen. He dropped everything on the kitchen table. Then, he looked to Sherlock. The man was still standing there nervously, as if trying to think of some way to get out of this situation.

"Alright, off with your coat."

Sherlock gave him a look.

"I said, off! Don't make me wrestle it off you like last time." John warned him. "You didn't win that time."

"No, I remember." Sherlock said, taking off his scarf.

While Sherlock slowly removed his coat, John noticed how uneasy the man seemed. The slight wincing at stretching his arms was worrying. But it was not as concerning as what John saw next. Sherlock took off his jacket and as he turned to set it aside, John's heart skipped a beat.

"Sherlock?! You're bleeding!"

Sherlock looked to his arms and wrists.

"No, your back! Your back is..." John stopped, and Sherlock looked up. "Why are you looking at your wrists?"

"I...uh..."

"Where are you not hurt right now?!" John asked, clearly annoyed.

Sherlock did not answer him.

John sighed.

"Come here. Sit." John said, pulling out a chair.

Sherlock shuffled over as if he were a scolded child and he sat down with groan. John went to wash his hands, while Sherlock undid his shirt.

When John turned back around, he got his first worrying glimpse. Sherlock's ribs were tightly wrapped. And as he rolled his shoulder of of his shirt sleeve, John saw the bandages stretched all the way up and over his collar bone.

"Oh, Sherlock..."

Sherlock dropped his shirt on the floor and John's eyes widened.

"Sherlock...I...I didn't..."

"You didn't do this John."

John paused.

"No, but, the restaurant." John said, trying to wrap his head around the facts. "I knocked you down. A few times."

"And? Was I bleeding then?" Sherlock asked him.

John cleared his throat.

"Not from the nose, I mean." He said, rolling his eyes.

"You had your coat on." John shot back.

Sherlock paused a moment.

"Fair enough." He said.

John came over to him and Sherlock moved to sit on the edge of the chair. It took John a moment to find where the bandages began. Then, he started to slowly unwrap them.

"So? This? All these injures aren't because of me?" John asked, still wanting to be sure.

"No, John."

"Did I cause any of them?"

"Not directly, no."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The arms and wrists, slight burns from the bonfire. Embers blew back at me. A few fell down my coat sleeves."

"What about your back? And shoulder? And ribs?"

"All a bit sore from rescuing you. And getting knocked around by you. But once again John, none of this was initially caused by you. So please stop asking."

John undid another row of bandages.

"Are you going to tell me what did cause all this?"

Sherlock did not answer.

As John undid one more row he caught his first good glimpse of Sherlock's injuries. His back was a mass of welts, cuts, and bruising. As more of the bandages fell away John found the source of the bleeding. One of the deeper cuts had been serious enough to require a number of stitches. It had clearly been pulled by all the exertion that night and had started to bleed.

"Mm." John groaned.

"How bad is it?"

"Could have been worse. You pulled it enough to make it bleed. But luckily, you didn't rip it completely." John said, checking it closer. "You are very, very lucky."

"So I've been told."

John gave a laugh.

"I'll go get something to clean you up with."

"It's alright." Sherlock said, standing up. "I was going to jump in the shower anyways."

"Yeah, but-"

"It's alright, John. I'm fine." Sherlock said slowly, and he turned to face him. "Thank you. I can handle myself from here."

John's words were stuck in his throat. He just kept staring at Sherlock.

"You should...you know..." Sherlock said. "Mary will be-"

"Bandages."

Sherlock paused.

"Bandages. You'll need someone to help you with that." John said, thinking fast. "You can't wrap your ribs properly by yourself. Not with your back like that."

Sherlock hesitated.

"Go on. Take your time." John told him. "I'll put the kettle on and make us some tea."

Sherlock gave him a curious look. But at last, he gave in.

"Alright." He said, walking towards the bathroom. "I won't be long."

"Take your time." John called after him.

But, it was just then that John remembered.

"Oh! Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped and looked back.

"I, uh...thank you." John said. "Last night, the whole thing with the bonfire, Mary and I, we looked for you. We never had the chance to-"

"You don't have to thank me, John." Sherlock said.

"But you-"

"Consider us even." Sherlock told him. "I did save you from that bonfire. But, you did just help me solve a case. And now you've offered to patch me up. I'd consider us even. Wouldn't you?"

John smiled.

"Yes, I suppose so." John said.

Sherlock smiled. He turned around and kept walking.

The bathroom door shut and John heard the water running.

John went and found the kettle. He filled it and set it to boil. As he was trying to find some cups, something else occurred to him.

John pulled out his phone and leaned back against the counter. He checked the time. It was well past midnight, and he knew Mary would be asleep for the night.

He dialed the number. It rang, went to voice mail, and he left a message.

"Hi, Mary. You were right." John said softly, so as not to be heard by Sherlock. "He did need me. And, uh, well, he still needs me. I'll be a while. Might have to spend the night here. Don't worry about me. I'll be at work first thing in the morning. Promise. I'll explain everything then. Love you. Bye."

John hung up, and he went back to making the tea.

He was pouring the tea by the time Sherlock came out of the shower. The two of them drank their tea and chatted a little. John took his time tending to and wrapping all of Sherlock's many injures. Not long after that, he sent the detective to bed. Sherlock was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

John went back out to the living room and sat down in his chair. He sat there a while, trying to figure out what to do next. But before he realized it he had fallen asleep as well.

By the time he awoke a few hours later, it was already sunrise. John pulled himself together and checked the clock. He would still make it in time for his shift at the clinic that morning. But as he eyed the bedroom door, he was a bit disappointed that Sherlock had not yet awoken.

John dragged his feet a while, before slipping on his coat. He scrawled a quick note to Sherlock, telling him that he would be back later that afternoon to check in on him, and he left it on the kitchen table.

John stepped back. He stood there a minute longer. Then, with a sigh he put his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. But he had barely taken a few steps before he stopped.

His fingertips brushed against something in his pocket. Reaching a bit deeper, he remembered.

John pulled out Sherlock's pair of leather gloves from his pocket. He smiled. Looking the gloves over one more time he went back to the table. And gently, he set the gloves down next to his note.

John gave one last look to the man's bedroom door. Then, he left.

The bedroom door opened a crack as the sound of John's footsteps echoed off down the stairs. Sherlock heard the front door shut. He slowly came out of his room. For a moment, he stood there in the hall staring at the door John had just left through.

Turning away, he rubbed a hand through his hair and gave a heavy sigh.

But then, something caught his attention. His eyes settled on the kitchen table. He saw John's note there. And when he saw his gloves there as well, he smiled.


End file.
